In The Grim Dark Future Is There Only War?
by Slaashyish
Summary: A group of oneshots showing situations which, though they probably wouldn't happen, I think are entirely possible, and prove GW wrong. In a way.


_First try at a comedic one, feedback appreciated._

A chunk of machinery sailed gracefully through the air before landing with a brutal sounding clang. This particular clang would be inaudible to anyone who was not especially close to the impact however, due to the, quite frankly ridiculous, number of other machine-parts flying through the air.

It wasn't just the individual impacts that were drowned out by the overall clamour of raining metal. Anyone close enough might also have heard a voice muttering to itself.

"Were iz ya? I noze Yooz In 'ere. I coulda swore I jus' pu' it down aroun' 'ere...

Zoggit! Dat Yoozly Works! Were the Zog'dit go!?" and similar phrases.

Now then, I expect you will have realised the reason for the heavy bits of engines flying through the air. However, just in case you're not too familiar with this particular mode of speech in this context, here's a description of our subject.

He is only a 'he' because there are certain beings for whom the title 'she' is unsuitable. Despite this, he, at just under 3 meters in height, and with almost more metal than flesh, is an imposing sight however one refers to him. The fact that all the remaining flesh, and quite a bit of the metal, is green only adds to his menacing appearance.

Now consider that we have only seen him from behind, where there's less metal because he can't reach so easily, and his leather overalls are only stained black in the odd patch. The camera, if there was a camera, which there isn't because even if there was he'd have dismantled it by now... Anyway, the view swings round to his face. Here those people with weak stomachs might want to look away... oops. I suppose that should have come first. Never mind, we'll get someone to clean it up later.

As you can tell, he's not a pretty sight. In fact, were he to enter a beauty contest, which he wouldn't, but if he did, and he was the only entrant, he'd still come fifth (assuming there were only three judges and one announcer involved).

His mouth hangs open in what would on anyone else appear to be a moronic grin. It doesn't look any less moronic on him, except for the dark yellow, chipped, yet sharp tusks protruding from his near-black gums. The head which holds this fearsome maw is located somewhere between his shoulder blades, thought the exact location of his shoulders has been confused somewhat by the large mechanical limbs he's grafted onto his torso. His eyes would be small, evil and red, if he hadn't replaced them with a bleeping green visor.

Actually, it's not the visor that bleeps. He's got another piece of gear grafted into him that does the beeping. It's just to annoy the boss really. Having eyes that bleeped wouldn't help him work would it?

Well, that's our new friend. If you don't know what he is yet, then go and find an Ork codex.

-

"Gotcha!" Big Mek Gizmo Gunbitz held up the rubbery piping in celebration. Firing off a burst from his shoota as he did so. If you think it's odd that he had his gun out while he was searching, then you don't know much about Orks, and even less about Meks. Those metal arms aren't just for show. Gizmo made sure that he had at least two weapons, and as many tools as he could fit in each arm. It didn't bother him that there wasn't actually enough space for all the weapons and the arm machinery in the arms. In the same way that it didn't bother him that he always forgot to pack ammo. It never made a difference anyway.

Making sure he didn't lose the piping again in one of his many pockets, Gizmo stomped off back to his shop. This was the only bit he'd needed. Soon everything would be ready. He hoped the Boss'd have fun with it. That was the whole point of this particular bit of tinkering. Not that he needed a reason to tinker. In fact So much of Gizmo was Bionik that he often tinkered in his sleep, waking up to find a whole shelf of new shootas that hadn't been there yesterday.

Slamming the door open with one well placed boot, he yelled out for his Oilers. The grots didn't take long to come scurrying. He didn't know their names. Grots were so stupid that even when he yelled "Down!" as something blew up, they didn't seem to realise until the fireball hit them. He always needed new ones, but at least they were cheap.

"Youz lot 'ad better not a' messed wiv da new fing!"

There was an insistent clamour of high voices. "Yes Boss. Course Boss. Sorry Boss."

Gizmo didn't pay much attention to the last part. They were always apologising, probably they'd messed something up, but right now, his shop was still here, so this lot were better than the last bunch.

"Right youz Runtz!" He bellowed, enjoying the way they cowered in terror at his voice. True they were just grots, and grots were cowards, but it was still satisfying. "Getz me some Squiggs! Oil Squiggs!" he added as the skinny green bodies scurried away towards the Squigg pens, knowing that they'd probably only half get it right if he told them which ones to get.

He grabbed a Steel drum from near the wall, and emptied the bitz onto the floor. Carrying it under his arm, he walked over to what appeared to be little more than a random selection of pipes and tubes welded, glued, and in some cases hammered into what had once been an engine. There was one hole in it that was unpiped though, until Gizmo was close enough. Jamming the rubber tube inside it, he put the barrel down, and with a grin of enormous magnitude, he flipped the only switch on the machine.

The noise which burst forth was a deafening drone, which became a whine when he covered the big funnel at the back end of it. He grinned wider, now revealing every tusk his huge mouth held. The first grot ran up to him carrying a fat blue creature over its head. The squigg was the right kind, and, because his grin was already as big as it could be, Gizmo started to laugh. The deep booming sound echoed eerily off the uneven walls, and the grots knees began to shake. Whatever the grot was feeling though, the squigg looked happy. It somehow gave off an air of tremendous grinnyness, despite having a long tube for a mouth.

The volume of his laughter increased as Gizmo grabbed the squigg by it's legs, making it squeal in joy, he wrapped his other hand around the base of it's bulbous body, and, holding it over the barrel squeezed every drop of squigg oil out of it.

The creature was still alive, but feeling a bit, well, deflated. It was about to experience something no other squigg had ever felt however. Still holding it stretched out, Gizmo gripped it's mouth over the pipe, and said. "Switch it on!"

His laughter kept increasing as the grot climbed up onto the machine. It was becoming the kind of laugh, which for a human would be punctuated with sporadic bursts of "They said I was mad! But I'll show them. I'll show them all!!"

It eventually subsided as the grot switched the machine off again, and he tied a bit of string around the Squigg's mouth-tube. He tied the other end to a railing, and watched with a grin as the Squigg's legs waggled around in mid air.

Being in midair was not an uncommon feeling for a squigg, as they frequently get picked up for various reasons. None had ever been stopped from floating away by a piece of string before however, so this one was enjoying its chance at a unique experience.

Gizmo sighed. "I 'ope da Boss likes 'iz Squiggloons."


End file.
